Gemotions

The sound of the post hole digger grated on his nerves. He was in his workshop, meticulously sanding a wooden chair leg, but the noise pierced through everything. The Millers next door were finally putting up a fence. It was a beautiful thing. He could already imagine how it would look, separating their perfect garden from his own.

He threw down the sandpaper, a sudden surge of frustration coursing through him. He hadn’t touched the garden in weeks. He hadn’t felt the motivation. His hands were suddenly clumsy. He walked outside, kicking a pebble.

The scent of freshly cut wood wafted over the boundary line, a smell that usually he would enjoy, but now felt like an accusation. He felt a need to do something. Anything.